


kill em with kindness

by montecarlos



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Angst, Brocedes, F/M, Kissing, M/M, Pining, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-26
Updated: 2016-07-26
Packaged: 2018-07-26 22:10:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7592200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/montecarlos/pseuds/montecarlos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They'd always been together, their names always said in the same breath, until they weren't anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	kill em with kindness

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lost_decade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lost_decade/gifts).



> Title from Selena Gomez's "Kill 'Em With Kindness" and inspired by the events of the press conference slightly. Wanted to write Lewis being the one struggling with his feelings for once. This is a birthday fic for the wonderful Caroline, I hope you enjoy this sweetie! ❤❤

_ your lies are bullets, your mouth's a gun _ _  
_

* * *

__  
They were mythical at one point, their names blurted out together from hushed lips - “don’t ever try get in between Nico and Lewis, you won’t win,” at all of the new drivers that seemed to slide themselves into the colourful cars. Some of the faces stay the same, but others disappeared season upon season. Lewis remembers how they used to be - a combination of bad hair, braces and baggy clothes and wonders what changed. He doesn’t remember when they started to hate each other, when Nico’s words weren’t so harsh and unforgiving, when the blonde didn’t look at him with disdain. He hates what they are now - if he can even say there’s a  _ them _ anymore. He could pretend that it’s true what the media say - that Mercedes tore them apart, that his competitive nature was too much of a strain on their fragile friendship. But the reality is very different.    
  
Lewis remembers years ago, remembers when they were both sixteen - how they would do everything together in the hot Italian summers, sharing bunks together. They were unbreakable then, their fathers would say that things would change when they go into Formula One - but neither of them heeded the warnings. It was easier back then, easier not to realise that Lewis was being forced into a different mould, the way that Ron Dennis wanted him to be. He knows that it’s wrong, that he shouldn’t see Nico in that way but he puts it down to a stupid teenage crush, to the fact that girls in karting are far and few between. He finds himself watching Nico more, finds himself looking at the curve of his pale pink lips, of his golden hair curling over his ears. They’re seventeen when their lips finally touch for the first time. However, just as Lewis’s lips ghost over Nico’s - they’re soft, warm, slightly chapped - Nico pulls away, disgust lingering in his dark green eyes.    
  
“What was that?” He asks and Lewis has no answer. He bottles it up, pretends that it was a mistake, that it was down to the alcohol. Nico doesn’t mention that his lips don’t taste of beer, doesn’t question the fact that Lewis’s eyes aren’t glassy and Lewis is happy for this. Nico watches him carefully - his forest green eyes gazing into Lewis’s - calculating, careful.    
  
“I’m sorry,” Lewis says, but the words sound hollow when he doesn’t mean a syllable of them. “I didn’t mean to do that,”   
  
Nico nods once. “I’m not gay,” He says, carefully. “You know that right?”   
  
Lewis hums in agreement, ignoring the pain in his chest at Nico’s words. “Yeah, I’m sorry,” He says, not really knowing what he’s apologising for.    
  
After that moment, he throws himself into what Ron wants him to be - his little champion, his junior driver in the making, the one who is hard-working and spends hours on the simulator, the one who doesn’t harbour feelings for a certain blonde man, the one who is  __ straight . He throws himself into McLaren, buys a flat or two to occupy himself, goes out with Jodia and pretends that he’s a real life Cinderella - a rags to riches story - as he goes home every night after his dates, after his evening meal and curls up in his bed, ignores the dull ache in his chest.   
  
The ache gets heavier when Nico brings Vivian into the paddock in Monaco - he watches the pair of them together, is reminded that Vivian is everything that he is not - she is all soft edges and blonde hair and beautiful alabaster skin. Lewis watches Nico curl their hands together, watches his hand curve over her tiny, delicate shoulder and he feels his heart shatter. He knows they’re supposed to be together, watches Nico’s eyes never leave the blonde at his side and his chest aches, he pretends that Nico never said those words to him, that they never kissed, that the thing between them doesn’t exist. But his eyes linger on Nico, on Nico’s hand at the small of her back and he hates himself in that moment.    
  
“Lewis, I’d like you to meet someone special,” Nico’s voice calls him over and Lewis pastes on his best smile as he glances at the woman who has ripped Nico’s heart away. “This is my girlfriend, Vivian,”   
  
“Nice to meet you,” Lewis says, trying to ignore the dull ache deep in his chest.    
  
She smiles at him, it’s open and honest and trusting and he hates her in that moment, hates her for taking the one thing he loved away. He watches Nico’s hand slide around her waist as they make small talk, watches him smile at her like she’s the most precious thing in the world. He pretends that he needs to speak to someone else and slinks away, not noticing the look of disappointment on Nico’s face, the hurt in his eyes as he walks away. Lewis finds himself at the bar, his hand curling around some expensive cocktail glass. The alcohol burns his throat as it trickles down, as he waits for it to settle over his tongue, to make the thought of Nico and Vivian disappear.    
  
However, they don’t disappear. They seem brighter than ever over the next few seasons, they seem ignite and burn brightly. Lewis tries to throw himself into McLaren but it’s getting harder and harder to be what they want him to be. He spends his evening curled up on his sofa in Switzerland, watching box sets and trying to ignore the loneliness clawing in on him, clawing at his chest. He ends up looking at paddock photos - finding photographs of Vivian and Nico holding hands as they glide down the paddock effortlessly, photos of them kissing after the Monaco race and they all hurt, they all cut him to the bone as he thinks about what they have never had. He mourns for something that never existed.    
  
“Hopefully we will see more of each other,” Nico says as he claps Lewis on the shoulder, the cameras go off around them. The ink is not yet wet on Lewis’s contract, the collar is scratchy against the nape of his neck, they’re different to his McLaren ones. Nico’s hand is warm against his skin, it feels like it burns. Lewis tries not to catch his eye, tries to ignore the tingling warmth that spreads over his skin.   
  
“Why did you move, Lewis?” They ask him, they don’t have a clue and he feeds them a load of lies about wanting to move to a lesser team, tries not to glance at Nico as he speaks.    
  
They have no idea that he did this all for him. He knows that he’s probably making a mistake, that it’s torture to spend day in, day out with the man you love, the man you can never obtain but Lewis thinks of the alternative, thinks of never seeing Nico and he can’t take that chance. His eyes slide over the tight white Mercedes t-shirt clinging to Nico’s body for a moment before he looks away, blush clinging to his cheeks.    
  
“Why did you move?” Nico asks him after a long interview together, his forest green eyes are full of interest and curiosity. “Like, was there another reason?” He says, his eyes lingering on Lewis’s face.    
  
“No...I wanted a new challenge,” Lewis says, thankful that his voice doesn’t waver at all. Nico seems closer than ever, his cologne curling into Lewis’s nostrils and Lewis feels his heart slam against his chest. He could easily lean in and capture the blonde’s lips if he wanted to but he doesn’t, he just smiles as Nico holds his gaze for a moment. He doesn’t look like he believes him at all, but the answer is enough.    
  
However, any dreams Lewis has of being close to Nico vanish within the first few months at Mercedes as the shine of a new team, of being the new boy soon fall away and he struggles in a car which is nowhere near its best. He thinks about all the people yelling that they told him so, about all the people telling him that he should have never left McLaren as the car struggles through the season. Nico is different too, he’s nothing like he used to be and Lewis feels like he’s drowning under the pressure. Nico seems untainable now, like a hardened diamond, he’s barely the Nico that Lewis remembers anymore. But Lewis hangs on, hangs onto Mercedes’s promises, tries not to touch Nico, tries to smile when he hugs him, when they’re sitting next to each other doing interviews and commercials and press work. He wonders if he’s crazy for choosing to spend time with the man he will never possess, the man that will never love him in the way that he wants.    
  
They tangle together through the season, watching Sebastian sweep up trophy after trophy, before Mark walks away from it all, tired of being second best, tired of Sebastian not loving him the same way. Lewis wishes that he could walk away from it all, wishes that he was as brave as Mark. But he’s not. He still clings to Nico, to the pathetic thing they call a friendship. He’s not sure by this point if he’s just clinging to what they were, to what they could have been. Nico seems to harden as the car’s reliability improves and suddenly, they’re flying, they’re sweeping up trophies and poles and leaving the Red Bull in the dust. Such success isn’t without sacrifice though. Nico seems even more cold as the pair of them suddenly are thrust into the spotlight. Lewis tries not to look at Nico, tries to pretend that the glances he gives his teammate are the calculating ones they talk of in the press. He plays into the stereotype, smiles through the press tearing them apart, pretends that it doesn’t hurt. They say they hate each other but they couldn’t be far from the truth.  
  
Lewis still loves Nico, even when his front wing punctures his tyre in Spa, when the Championship battle becomes too much to bear, when Nico returns from the break with a silver ring on his finger. It hurts he wasn’t invited to the wedding.    
  
Lewis wins his second title. He feels the elation sink into his bones, that it’s finally over, that he’s silenced his critics as the champagne dampens his scratchy overalls and the British flag clings to his back, screaming out into the thick Abu Dhabi air, his lungs on fire, tears clinging to his eyes as he glances down at the trophy that is finally in his hands again. However, he thinks back to how Nico looked at him in the cool down room, how his hands lingered on Lewis’s cheek, how he whispered about how proud he was. He finds himself outside Nico’s hotel room, hand hovering to knock. He knows he shouldn’t, he knows that Vivian is probably in there but he can’t stop himself, he has to know for certain.    
  
“What’s wrong?” Nico asks, his voice is hushed, his eyes flickering back to the room, his shirt is unbuttoned and there’s a fresh bruise on his collarbone. Lewis finds his eyes drawn to it before he glances up into forest green eyes.    
  
“I had to see you,”   
  
“In the middle of the night? What for?” Nico asks, genuinely confused before he gently closes the bedroom door carefully, eyes locked on Lewis. “Are you drunk?”   
  
“I’ve had a few….but that’s not why I’m here,” Lewis says, tentatively. He swipes his tongue over his drying lips, tries to summon the courage to tell Nico exactly why he’s here. The silence washes over them as Lewis leans in, his hand cupping Nico’s cheek for a moment, feeling the warm skin under his own before he captures Nico’s lips. They’re soft and warm as he remembers, they ignite every pore inside Lewis’s body as their lips tangle together, their chests rise in unison. Lewis closes his eyes, pretends that he and Nico love each other, that this is everything that they ever wanted. However, as his tongue moves to slide against Nico’s, his hand fisting into the shirt, Nico wrenches himself away, his eyes are dark.    
  
“What the fuck was that?” He whispers out from between swollen red lips. “What are you playing at?”   
  
“I, I wanted to tell you I love you,” Lewis blurts out, blush dancing down his cheeks. “I know I shouldn’t tell you but I-”    
  
“Stop,” Nico hisses, his eyes dark with anger. “What kind of game are you playing?”   
  
“I’m not playing a game, Nico, I honestly-”   
  
“And I told you before, I’m not fucking gay,” Nico hisses under his breath. “I have a wife, I’m married-”   
  
“I’m sorry,” Lewis says, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. “I never asked to love you but I-”   
  
“Just go,” Nico says, shaking his head. “You know this can never happen, it’s never going to happen, I just-” He pinches his temples and looks pained. “Just go,”   
  
And Lewis does, he walks away from the man he loves, walks away from Nico, allows him to go back to his wife, back to his normal life. Lewis goes back to his hotel room and looks at the trophy gleaming on the side and wonders if anything of it was worth it, if it was worth holding onto Nico all those years. He glances out of the window at the illuminated skyline of Abu Dhabi but the lights offer no answer, they continue silently blinking as Lewis’s hand curves around a tumbler of whiskey. The alcohol feels numb on his tongue as Nico’s angry green eyes and the gleam of the trophy become a distant memory. 

  
Maybe it’s easier that way.    
  



End file.
